


Nobody Gets a Free Ride

by Vector



Category: Baccano!
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-25
Updated: 2008-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 15:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vector/pseuds/Vector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He smells like the iron tang of blood. For prompt <i>"nobody gets a free ride."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Gets a Free Ride

It's a terrible joke that the Director gave Rachel this assignment in the first place. She's still not sure why she accepted. She keeps her distance as much as she can and refuses entirely to follow the man when he goes into dark buildings.

Rachel should have expected that he'd notice her anyway. He's Vino, Claire Stanfield, after all.

He exits the building via a window and catches her laying on the nearby roof - jumps up like it's nothing and is sitting in front of her before she's managed to pull herself upright enough to move out of sight.

"What," she swallows, tries again, "What are you going to do to me?"

"That depends." He smiles. He isn't as blood-soaked as he was on the train, but that would have been a feat. His hands are still stained red to the elbows. "What are you doing here?"

Honesty's probably best. He might kill her for it, but then he might kill her for lying, so— "Following you. I — I work for an information shop."

"So you're gathering information on me?" He leans in close to her face, and he smells like the iron tang of blood. She flinches away, then nods.

"I suppose that's all right, then. Neutral. No one's going to catch me, after all. And you helped out on the train." He's not all bad, she reminds herself. He did help rescue those people. He might not— "There's just the matter of your free ride, then."

"What?" She shifts a bit more, gets her legs under her. She doesn't _really_ think she could escape, but—

"What kind of a conductor would I be if I let that slide?" His voice is all reason. "Of course, I'm not actually a conductor anymore, but that doesn't mean I've lost my principles."

"I didn't have the money," she says flatly. "I still don't."

"I expected as much," he says, and then reaches for her. Her instincts say _run_, and her legs flex instantly, but she's only half-standing before he grabs the front of her sweater, pulling her down and—kissing her?

She's completely unprepared for it, but that's what it is. His mouth presses hard to hers, hot, his tongue pressing into her mouth like it's a conquest. It's suggestive, and if there's any way she wasn't expecting this to work out—

Her heart is pounding in her ears when he breaks away. He smiles at her again, curve of his mouth too pretty for a killer.

"You—" She bites off the question. She's asked too many already. Stating things is more powerful, can even make them the truth. "I'll... suck you off. And then we'll be even. And you'll leave me alone, let me do my job."

He cocks his head at her curiously. "If that's what you want."

Rachel gives him a look rather than try to respond to that. The man makes no sense.

"Let's move away from the edge a bit." He stands and walks around her to the center of the roof. Rachel is incredulous. They'll only be slightly less visible from the street, there, and eventually someone will come investigate the screams that had come from that building. But then he's unhooking his crisp black pants, leaving smears of blood, and it's not like she really has options.

She walks over and kneels by him. She tries not to think about what she's doing as she takes his cock out of his pants, strokes him to hardness. Seals her lips around him.

He smells like a man, dark and musky, and it almost overwhelms the smell of blood that's both on him and on her where he's touched her. She can manage this. She finds a rhythm, sliding her mouth on him steadily.

Then Rachel hears the sirens and voices. She jumps, almost chokes.

"Don't worry, they won't find us." Claire's voice is deep but even, confident, and it might be attractive if he wasn't an insane serial murderer. He strokes away the hair at her temple, a bizarrely gentle gesture, and it might be comforting except that there's still blood on his hands and it leaves a trail on her skin that she can feel, damp and slightly tacky.

She takes him in deeper again and he moans. She wants to yell at him to be _quiet_. Fear and something else twist inside of her.

She tries not to focus too hard on the sounds of people approaching, but she still misses it when he gets close, misses it until he says, "Now," and pulls back so his come hits the roof of her mouth. He tastes like salt, and she doesn't smell blood again until she moves away.


End file.
